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YELLOW STRETCHY MAN (Episode 95)

YELLOW STRETCHY MAN


This morning the sky is grey, the wind is gathering, and there are notes of coffee on the air.

 

I have upped my walking lately and have been able to climb Moel Famau three times in the last week or so. It has been important to me to push myself and see how this feels ahead of summiting Snowdon. I have been spurred on by reaching my sponsorship target and by seeing my own progress. I have laughed when I have to dig deep into self-coaching to get cracking and am glad I listen to myself and know that repeated actions are making a slow and steady difference. I love that each person I have told about my walking and what I am aiming for has offered a different point of view. These interactions have added to my developing picture of what I am doing and how I can stretch myself to keep improving.

 

Alt text says this week’s photo shows a yellow plastic toy on a wood surface. I say it is an intact yellow stretchy man who I am not currently stretching. Instead I have placed him on my writing desk for a photo opportunity. I am giving him a nod of thanks, and I won’t be pulling his arms too hard. In fact I am going to put him a jar of his very own to keep him dust free and away from my grip.

 

Some time ago I bought one of these for each of the people in my supervision group. Delighted to be able to play with mine at the meeting I was a little over zealous in stretching his arms out and perhaps enjoying the elastic stretch and boing of him rather too much because all of a sudden he snapped. I was left holding his arms whilst gazing at his body on the floor. I found myself laughing at the very surprise of how quickly he was altered at the same time as feeling rather disappointed that my toy had broken, and there he was simply smiling back at me.

 

Choosing to frame the moment in a poem was important to me for a couple of reasons. One, being to capture a moment in time and my observations of his “bitten muffin” shoulders. And the other being to remember the joy of that supervision group and its importance in giving me a safe space to be myself. A space I truly valued. A space where the busy world paused a while for deep reflection and thought. The members of the group brought listening ears, laughter, shoulders to cry on and made a real difference to me. A group that saw me stepping back out into the day with relaxed shoulders, a clearer mind and a focussed way forward. I think they would like the poem dedicated to the yellow stretchy man and I am glad it has found its home in Steel Jackdaw Magazine. 

 

YELLOW STRETCHY MAN

 

I like his resilience.

His arms outstretched and thin.

 

I meet his gaze

our smiles serene.

 

My stress toy

has me laughing.

I pull his arms

faster and faster.

 

And when he snaps he doesn’t

even twang.

The exposed rough breaks

of his shoulders

are like bitten muffins.

 

I hold his hands,

see his smiling broken body on the ground.

 

I pick him up

determined to pull off his legs in one go.

 

 

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